Last week I stumbled upon a farmers' market in the heart of the city, at Rockefeller Center, right in the spot where a towering Christmas tree is chosen and lit each year with great fanfare. After buying some rainbow chard, chioggia beets and peaches at one stand, I wandered to an adjacent vendor who featured houseplants and herbs, where I found something unexpected: bay laurel. The use, never mind existence, of fresh bay leaves had never occurred to me, since the dried version prevails in the kitchen. I bought this little plant with the hope that it will manage to stay alive under my watch, as have the thriving mint and rosemary in a planter outside the front door.
Dried bay leaf is dutifully added to soups, stews, and curries, but this seasoning rarely asserts itself as a predominant flavor. Wishing to find an unorthodox use, and moving even further away from the bay leaf's comfort zone of braising, I took a cue from the English, who use bay laurel to flavor custards and puddings. I intended to make a crème anglaise perfumed with bay laurel to serve over fruit, but I wanted the bay to be center-stage. Since there is no better time for ice cream than these dog days of summer, frozen custard would be the perfect blank canvas for the bay leaf.
In ancient Greek mythology, Daphne was a shy, beautiful naiad and huntress who was happiest when alone, surrounded by nature. One day, the god Apollo discovered Daphne and instantly fell in love. He approached Daphne with the intent of conquest, and she fled in terror. Collapsing with fatigue, she called to her father, the river god Peneus (or to her mother, Gaia, the earth goddess; or to Zeus, king of the gods who was also Apollo's father--there are several versions of this story). Daphne was transformed into a laurel tree just as Apollo reached out to her. Still in love with Daphne, whose skin had turned to bark and whose arms became slender, verdant branches, Apollo mournfully worshiped the laurel tree and declared it sacred. Throughout Western history, a laurel wreath or crown signified victory or accomplishment, and even today we award baccalaureates, also known as bachelor's degrees.
Fresh Bay Leaf Ice Cream "Daphne"
- 1 cup milk
- 2 cups heavy cream
- 2-3 fresh bay leaves, each about 2 1/2 inches long, folded like accordions
- 1/2 cup sugar, divided
- 6 egg yolks
- pinch salt
In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, stir together 1 cup milk, 1 cup cream, 1/4 cup sugar, salt and the bay leaves. Warm the mixture over medium-low heat and stir occasionally until it starts steaming and making an anxious sound. Remove the pan from the heat and cover.
After about 30 minutes, place the covered pan on low heat. Meanwhile, stir the remaining 1/4 cup sugar into the egg yolks, and beat for about 3-4 minutes, until the yolks become pale yellow and thick. Vigorously stir about 1/2 cup of the hot milk mixture into the egg yolks and sugar. Then add the eggs to the hot milk and cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture thickens and reaches 175°F. Strain the custard through a fine-mesh sieve into a large bowl and stir in the remaining cup of cream. Allow to cool, and freeze in an ice cream maker, per the manufacturer's instructions.
The fresh bay leaf imparts a subtle, piney flavor to the velvety custard, and there are delicate but unmistakable suggestions of nutmeg and vanilla, which are evocative of eggnog.
This music geek thinks bay leaf ice cream is best enjoyed while listening to Daphnes Verwandlung (Daphne's transformation) and Mondlichtmusik (moonlight music) from the very end of Richard Strauss's ravishing one-act opera Daphne. The musical depiction of her metamorphosis is some of the most stunningly beautiful ten minutes ever composed.
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